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Sent. That some of my comrades should carry my dying blessing to my wife and children.

Rol. What if that comrade was at thy prison door, and should there be told, thy fellow soldier dies at sunrise, yet thou shalt not for a moment see him, nor shalt thou bear his dying blessing to his poor children, or his wretched wife, what wouldst thou think of him who thus could drive thy comrade from the door?

Sent. How?

Rol. Alonzo has a wife and child; and I am come but to receive for her, and for her poor babe, the last blessing of my friend.

Sent. Go in. (Exit Sentinel.)

Rolla. (Calls.) Alonzo! Alonzo!

(Enter Alonzo speaking as he comes in.)

Alon. How Is my hour elapsed? Well, I am ready. Rol. Alonzo.— -know me!

Alon. Rolla! how didst thou pass the guard?

Rol. There is not a moment to be lost in words. This disguise I tore from the dead body of a friar, as I passed our field of battle. It has gained me entrance to thy dun

geon, now take it thou and fly.

Alon. And Rolla

Rol. Will remain in thy place.

Alon. And die for me! No! Rather eternal torturés rack me.

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Rol. I shall not die, Alonzo. It is thy life Pizarro seeks, not Rolla's; and thy arm may soon deliver me from prison. Or, should it be otherwise, I am as a blighted tree in the desert; nothing lives beneath my shelter. Thon art a husban and a father; the being of a lovely wife and helpless infant depend upon thy life. Go! go! Alonzo, not to save thyself, but Cora and her child.

Alon. Urge me not thus, my friend-I am prepared to die in peace.

Rol. To die in peace; devoting her you've sworn to live for, to madness, misery and death!

Alon. Merciful beavens!

Rol. If thou art yet irresolute, Alonzo-now mark me well. Thou know'st that Rolla never pledged his word, and shrunk from its fulfilment. And here I swear, if thou

art proudly obstinate, thou shalt have the desperate triumph of seeing Rolla perish by thy side.

Alon. O Rolla! you distract me! Wear you the robe, and though dreadful the necessity, we will strike down the guard, and force our passage.

Rol. What, the soldier on duty here?

Alon. Yes, else, seeing two, the alarm will be instant death.

Rol. For my nation's safety I would not harm him. That soldier, mark me, is a man! All are not men that wear the human form. He refused my prayers, refused my gold, denying to admit-till his own feelings bribed him. I will not risk a hair of that man's head, to save my heart strings from consuming fire. But haste; a moment's further pause and all is lost.

Alon. Rolla, I fear thy friendship drives me from honor and from right.

Rol. Did Rolla ever counsel dishonor to his friend? (Throwing the friar's garment over his shoulders.) There! conceal thy face-Now God be with thee.


I CONGRATULATE you, my brave countrymen, and fellow soldiers, on the spirit and success with which you have executed this important part of our enterprise. The formidable Heights of Abraham are now surmounted; and the city of Quebec, the object of all our toils, now stands in full view before us.

2. A perfidious enemy, who have dared to exasperate you by their cruelties, but not to oppose you on equal ground, are now constrained to face you on the open plain, without ramparts or entrenchments to shelter them.

3. You know too well the forces which compose their army to dread their superior numbers. A few regular troops from Old France, weakened by hunger and sickness, who when fresh were unable to withstand British soldiers, are their general's chief dependence.

4. Those numerous companies of Canadians, insolent, mutinous, unsteady, and ill disciplined, have exercised his utmost skill to keep them together to this time; and as soon as their irregular ardor is damped by one firm fire, they will instantly turn their backs, and give you no further trouble but in the pursuit.

5. As for these savage tribes of Indians, whose horrid yells in the forest have struck many a bold heart with affright, terrible as they are with the tomahawk and scalping knife to a flying and prostrate foe, you have experienced how little their ferocity is to be dreaded by resolute men upon fair and open ground. You can now only consider them as the just objects of a severe revenge for the unhappy fate of many slaughtered countrymen.

6. This day puts it in your power to terminate the fatigues of a siege, which has so long employed your courage and patience. Possessed with a full confidence of the certain success which British valor must gain over such enemies, I have led you up these steep and dangerous rocks; only solicitous to show you the foe within your reach.

7. The impossibility of a retreat makes no difference in the situation of men resolved to conquer or die; and, believe me, my friends, if your conquest should be bought with the blood of your general, he would most cheerfully resign a life which he has long devoted to his country.


THE most affecting instance of the odious inflexibility of Venetian courts, appears in the case of Foscari, son of the Doge of that name. This young man had, by some imprudences, given offence to the senate, and was, by their orders, confined at Treviso, when Almor Donato, one of the council of Ten, was assassinated, on the 5th of November, 1450, as he entered his own house.

2. A reward, in ready money, with pardon for this, or any other crime, and a pension of two hundred ducats, revertible to children, was promised to any person who would

discover the planner or perpetrator of this crime. No such discovery was made.

3. One of young Foscari's footmen, named Olivier, had been observed loitreing near Donato's house, on the evening of the murder; he fled from Venice next morning. These, with other circumstances of less importance, created a strong suspicion that Foscari had engaged this man to commit the murder.

4. Olivier was taken, brought to Venice, put to the torture, and confessed nothing; yet the council of Ten, being prepossessed with an opinion of their guilt, and imagining that the master would have less resolution, used him in the same cruel manner. The unhappy young man, in the midst of his agony, continued to assert, that he knew nothing of the assassination.

5. This convinced the court of his firmness, but not of his innocence; yet as there was no legal proof of his guilt, they could not sentence him to death. He was condemned to pass the rest of his life in banishment, at Canea, in the island of Candia.

6. This unfortunate youth bore his exile with more impatience than he had done the rack: he often wrote to his relations and friends, praying them to intercede in his behalf, that the term of his banishment might be abridged, and that he might be permitted to return to his family before he died. All his applications were fruitless; those to whom he addressed himself had never interfered in his favor, for fear of giving offence to the obdurate council, or had interfered in vain.

7. After languishing five years in exile, having lost all hope of return, through the interposition of his own family or countrymen, in a fit of despair he addressed the Duke of Milan, putting him in mind of services which the Doge, his father had rendered him, and begging that he would use his powerful influence with the state of Venice that his sentence might be recalled.

8. He entrusted his letter to a merchant, going from Canea to Venice, who promised to take the first opportunity of sending it from thence to the Duke; instead of which, this wretch, as soon as he arrived at Venice, delivered it to the chiefs of the council of Ten.

9. This conduct of young Foscari appeared criminal in the eyes of those judges; for by the laws of the republic, all its subjects are expressly forbidden claiming the protec tion of foreign princes, in any thing which relates to the government of Venice.

10. Foscari was therefore ordered to be brought from Candia, and shut up in the state prison. There the chiefs of the Council of Ten ordered him once more to be put to the torture to draw from him the motives which determined him to apply to the Duke of Milan. Such an exertion of law is, indeed, the most flagrant injustice.

11. The miserable youth declared to the Council, that he wrote the letter in the full persuasion that the merchant, whose character he knew, would betray him, and deliver it to them; the consequence of which, he foresaw, would be his being ordered back a prisoner to Venice, the only means he had in his power of seeing his parents and friends; a pleasure for which he had languished, with insurmountable desire, for some time, and which he was willing to purchase at the expense of any danger or pain.

12. The judges, little affected with this generous instance of filial piety, ordained, that the unhappy young man should be carried back to Candia, and there be imprisoned for a year, and remain banished to that island for life, with this condition, that if he should make any more applications to foreign powers, his imprisonment should be perpetual. At the same time they gave permission, that the Doge and his lady might visit their unfortunate son.

13. The Doge was, at this time, very old; he had been in possession of the office above thirty years. Those wretched parents had an interview with their son in one of the apartments of the palace; they embraced him with all the tenderness which his misfortunes and his filial affection deserved.

14. The father exhorted him to bear his hard fate with firmness. The son protested, in the most moving terms, that this was not in his power; that, however others could support the dismal loneliness of a prison, he could not; that his heart was formed for friendship, and the reciprocal endearments of social life; without which, his soul sunk inte dejection worse than death, from which alone he should lo


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